Tamate Bako
by clockwork starlight
Summary: It's the end of the world as we know it, and all I can taste is salt. Kinda PainxKonan, spoilers for up to Naruto chapter 449.


Finished a plot bunny from ages ago. Not much else to say. I did cry during that particularly arc. Naruto isn't mine, and the tale of Urashima Taro is hardly private property. Whee.

* * *

The lady is very pretty. She was shopping a little while ago; they saw her from the little play structure their mamas told them not to leave. She spent a lot of time just smelling the tea in the shop. They don't know why, they think that place smells bad, reminds them of the awful stuff mama forces down their throats when they are ill. She looks at the fruits that are not in season, strokes the plump flesh of the peaches with white, white fingers. She puts five into her basket. And then she puts three back. They think she might be very sad. Maybe she doesn't have enough money. She goes to the perfume shop. Her hair is bluer than the sky they decide. They're not sure if it is bluer than the ocean, since they have only ever heard about it. She buys incense even though it is very expensive here.

She leans into the shade of a building. It's hot, but not as hot as it could be. Nagato would have hated Suna. She noticed them watching her an hour ago, two boys and a tiny little girl they are so protective of when they aren't teasing her. She senses them creeping toward her. Children of _shinobi_ then, since they aren't half bad at it. The boys at least. They probably learned sneaking into the kitchen for snacks. The girl doesn't hide anything.

She smiles at them, and they were right, she is sad. They sit and stare at each other, until she asks, with a voice like… like an angel, if they would like to hear a story. She has a very pretty voice, it's soft and tinkly and it sounds like she's never yelled at anyone in her life.  
Of course the boys say yes, it's probably a boring story, she doesn't look like she'll tell them about _ninja_ or fighting, but they want to listen to her. The little girl nods slowly, big brown eyes locked on her face.

Konan closes her eyes and remembers, hands itching to fold a paper crane or two or a thousand.  
_Once upon a time, there was a young fisherman named Urashima Taro. By chance one day he came upon a group of children tormenting a turtle by the waves. Fisher though he was, such innocent cruelty was not to be tolerated, so he scolded the children properly and sent them on their way. Do you know that turtles live longer, longer by far than the crane, symbol of longevity? And that such a life could be ended by hands as small and precious as yours? The fisherman let the turtle go, back into the ocean, and watched it sink into the dark of the sea.  
The next morning, he went to fish as he had every day before, but as soon as he lost sight of the land and the other boats, he heard a voice call his name.  
"Urashima Taro!"  
There, next to his boat, head poking out of the water, was the turtle from before.  
"Yesterday you saved my life, and in thanks I would like to show you the palace of the Dragon King."  
He agreed easily, for who would reject such an invitation? He took hold of the turtle's shell, and they swam, deep and far, but grew neither breathless nor tired. At last they came into view of a grand gate and the palace beyond it. Here the turtle had servants come and take him to the banquet.  
When he reached the great halls, a lovely princess, Otohime, greeted him warmly, seating him in the place of honor beside her. Even this much was not enough to express her gratitude, for she was the very same turtle, and so she offered herself as a bride if he would take her. Of course he agreed, and they spent three blissful days thinking of nothing but each other.  
On the third day he remembered his family, and thought of how worried they must be, he had been gone so long. So he begged the princess to take him back, for just a little while, so he could tell his mother of his good fortune. Reluctantly she consented, and presented him with a beautiful lacquer box, bound with silk cord.  
"Take this_ tamate bako _with you to remind you of me, but please, you must never open it. Promise me!"  
He did, and together they returned to the world of sky, a journey that felt much shorter than it did a mere three days ago.  
When he stepped onto the shore, everything had changed, the people of the village were not familiar, and there was no sign of his family. He asked if anyone knew of the family Urashima, and was distressed to learn that family had ended three hundred years ago, when the only son disappeared at sea.  
With nothing in his heart but grief, he sat by the ocean and his hands, unmindful of the promise he made with his wife, untied the cord and opened the box.  
A strange cloud arose and enveloped him. When it was gone, he found instead of his youthful face and strong back, he was an old man, wrinkled like a prune, and almost as small. All the lost time had been carefully hidden away in that box, so that maybe the lovers could be together forever. Some say Urashima Taro turned into a crane. Others say he turned into dust that scattered over the ocean waves. One thing was for certain. The turtle, though she was a princess who would live almost forever, would be alone._

She doesn't cry. The princess didn't cry. If she had, the ocean would have risen, and the excess of salt would have killed the other fish. That's what Konan thinks. What if she hadn't called out to him? Would she be happier now? How did so much time feel like so little? It's not fair, she thinks, why, why in god's name did he have to be human, servant to human nature and pain? Why did he have to leave?

Why did they both have to leave her? All she ever did was love them.

She doesn't know how the paper came to her hand, but the crane is done, and the _tamate bako_ is almost finished. She gives both to the girl, stands hurriedly, turns to leave. The children don't thank her, their eyes are on their mothers, looking less than pleased they left the playground.  
She thinks about apologizing to the Kazekage, for everything she has and has not done to him. She convinces herself neither of them wants to open old wounds, so she disappears.

The lair, like the others, is cold and dark and damp. She doesn't like it. It makes her feel small and vulnerable. The statue doesn't help. She isn't afraid, not in the least. This used to be her life, after all. It's just…terribly lonely. She lights the incense in front of the unseeing eyes, places the peaches next to them and kneels. One for Nagato, one for Yahiko, both for the 'what could have been'. She wonders again, as she has uncountably many times before, if Yahiko minded that she treasured Nagato more than their dream. The ideal seemed so damn far away compared to him, especially in the last few months before… before Naruto. It was hard to bear, all that anticipation welling up inside a frame that could hardly hold it. He seemed likely to shatter from the enormous pressure he was containing. She always wondered when. When had he become this? When had she let him?

His skin was like paper, dry and almost dead. He was pale, so pale; all of his life went into the pain. He looked so weak, nothing but parchment skin and jaded bone and loose threads of hair. It looked like the metal piercing him was all that was keeping him up. How ironic that ruin of a man, that god, held so many lives. Touching him felt almost like desecration, but she couldn't not; her own Urashima Taro.  
She had tried everything she could think of. He ate and drank whatever she gave him, like it all tasted the same; it was never enough to support six bodies and a shadow. She read to him, played music, lit candles and oils. Nothing eased the tightness in him, nothing could loosen the coil of tension that kept him searching, searching, searching for answers to questions that no one had asked.

When had he opened his _tamate bako_? Was it Naruto? She wanted so dearly to hate that boy, for making him leave her. She didn't care about peace or justice, didn't care that his answer was wrong, didn't care one fucking bit. But Nagato, he… He chose, he chose Naruto, so that was that.  
Was it Jiraiya? Was it Yahiko? Was it Chibi? Was it is his parents?  
What if it was her?  
She remembers what Nagato told Naruto. How he killed a man to protect Yahiko. How Jiraiya comforted him. His answer.  
_I just want to keep them safe, no matter what kind of pain I go through. _  
Her heart stops.  
She breaks free of her frantic thoughts and stares at the dying wisps of smoke. He couldn't have, he shouldn't have, she was angel to his god and he wouldn't have left her like this. It can't have been her. It _can't have been for her_. She was willing to die for him and Yahiko once. She would have gladly died for him again. She would have taken on the _kyuubi _if it meant she didn't have to watch him die as she had Yahiko, his blood pooling and her hands tied and her heart breaking and Nagato breaking and the world _breaking_ into little glass shards that stabbed and hurt and couldn't be removed.  
Everything is slipping away.  
His answer is wrong. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong. If this is his answer, he's wrong.  
Wetness drips from her chin onto her unfeeling knees.

Nagato. It's raining.

Did you know?

It tastes like you.


End file.
